


Sochi

by siriuslywinchester



Series: Toro Brosso [18]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Toro Brosso, sochi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslywinchester/pseuds/siriuslywinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During FP in Sochi, Max spots the red flags waving.  Slowing the car down to bring it back into the pits he spots the wreckage ahead of him and for a few hours it flips his world upside down.</p><p>Written for tumblr user <a href="http://echoes-underwater.tumblr.com">@echoes-underwater</a> who requested some torobrosso angst and suggested maybe something based on Sochi 2015.</p><p>Warning:  A couple of mentions of events surrounding Sazuka 2014.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlinthevortex">girlinthevortex</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Formula_Tea">Formula_Tea</a> for proof/beta reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sochi

Max saw red flags waving ahead of him and removed his foot from the accelerator, gently braking to slow the car down and set it into the correct mode to drive back to the pits. He'd been on a flying lap practising for qualifying and the red flag was probably going to mean the end of the session - he'd just have to hope he'd done enough to prepare himself already.

He brought the car around turn 12 much slower than he normally would, glad of the slow speed when he noticed a huge chunk of chassis in the middle of the track ahead of him and easily swerved around it.

It wasn't until he was almost into turn 13 that he saw the wreckage in the barrier ahead of him.

Marshals were rushing across the run off area towards a car that had managed to push itself into - and underneath - the tecpro barrier. 

A car that had 'CEPSA' on the back wing. 

Carlos' car.

"Oh God," Max breathed, feeling his stomach drop and a lump form in his throat.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to steer his car off the track, tear his safety harnesses off and jump out of the car. He wanted to push the marshals out of the way and rip the padded barrier away from Carlos and drag his team mate to safety. Subconsciously Max began to slow almost to a stop. He was vaguely aware of another car driving around him, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the crash before him.

"Max," a voice broke into his ear. "Box now. Don't stop. Box."

His engineers were asking him to leave his team mate - his best friend - and return to the pits, but the image of Carlos' car was burned into his mind now and his breathing was quickening to a point where his visor was steaming up. He could sense panic rising inside of him and began gulping for breath. He pushed open his visor and inhaled the cold, fresh air.

"Max, do you read me?" the voice said again. "Box. Now. Over?"

"But..." he started to reply, his voice feeble and lost, but he was cut off by his engineer.

"Now, Max."

There was no arguing. His engineer wasn't using his usual tone of disapproval when Max disobeyed orders. He sounded deadly serious. Something was badly wrong and they wanted him back in the paddock, out of the way.

Max followed the track back towards the pits, taking one last look in his rear view mirrors as the site of Carlos' accident turned out of view. Marshals surrounded the area now, waving instructions to one another, but not removing the barrier from the top of the car.

The image of Carlos driving through turn 12 at full speed, preparing to brake but something failing, filled Max's mind and he imagined himself in the seat as he hurtled towards the barrier.

Carlos and the car were wedged underneath the barrier. It was supposed to _stop_ the cars safely, not smother them. Could Carlos even breathe under there? What if he couldn't? Could the marshals lift the barrier quickly enough to save him? Was he even still breathing after he'd hit it? The thoughts flashed through Max's mind so quickly that he didn't have time to comprehend them all. They overwhelmed him, filling his mind and building the situation up higher and higher until Max felt like he had no control.

He barely registered where he was driving as his hands steered their way around the circuit and back into the pits. His mind was in overdrive. How long would Carlos be under the barrier before the marshals got him out? Could they hear him? Had they radioed to say whether he was talking or not? What if he was being buried alive underneath the tecpro and there was nothing he could do about it? What if he was in pain and needed urgent help and the marshals were taking too long?

Max choked, the lump in his throat threatening to stop his own breath as his mind took over with more horrifying thoughts of what could happen. He had to force back tears as he steered into his pit area and the engineers jacked his car up, pushing him safely into the garage beside the empty space where Carlos should have been.

He jumped out his car, ripping his helmet from his head and tossing it, without care, into the empty seat before pouncing on the nearest engineer and gripping the man's arm between his fingers in desperation. 

He dragged the man away from the car, to the back of the garage where he hoped the prying media couldn't see.

"What happened? Is Carlos OK?" he asked bluntly, panic causing his voice to break. "Have you heard from him?"

"His radio is dead," the engineer replied, sympathy and worry marring his face. "We think the connection broke in the crash. We don't know what is going on."

"We have to go there," Max said, almost cutting off the man he was questioning. "Let’s go there, now. Come on. We have to know what is happening."

Max released the man's arms and started for the back door of the garage which lead through to the paddock, but Franz Tost blocked the doorway in front of him and placed his hands on the young Belgian's shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The older man smiled sympathetically.

"Max, please," Franz said kindly, "try to think straight. If anything _has_ happened to Carlos he will need medical attention. You'll only be in the way if you go over there."

The tears Max had been forcing down broke out in a loud choking sob as Franz finished. He knew it was true. He'd known since he saw the impact in front of him, but he'd been trying to stay positive. Now the words had been said by somebody else it was as if all the hope inside of him had burst out and all that was left was despair.

"Go back to the trailer, Max," Franz continued, squeezing the young driver's shoulder. "Go and get showered and changed. Try to calm down. We'll tell you as soon as we hear anything. I promise."

Max nodded, unable to talk as he swallowed back more tears. He knew that Franz was right. He'd seen friends and team mates crash in lower series'. He'd seen the aftermath of Suzuka last year. But none of them had made him feel like he did now. He'd never really _cared_ for his previous team mates or racing colleagues like he did for Carlos. Not knowing what was happening was tearing him apart inside.

The walk to the trailer seemed to take forever, even though it was only a matter of a few meters. The paddock was just as busy as it would normally be, and members of the media surrounded the Toro Rosso garage. Max ignored them all, pushing his way through the crowd to the trailer door trying to make himself appear calm while inside he was screaming with frustration.

It was empty inside the trailer - just a few remnants of snacking from before the drivers had left to head out for the practise session. The quietness almost deafened Max as he realised the last time he'd spoken to Carlos was within the confines of these four walls. 'Good luck, mate. Don't drive faster than me' Max had joked before they parted ways to their own sides of the garage in preparation.

Max began to unzip his race suit, starting to undress ready to jump into the shower. He hated showering in the trailer and normally preferred to just change and head back to the hotel to clean up, but he had nothing else to do and at least in the shower he could let out some of the tears and nobody would be there to notice. 

He took a few steps forward, trying to prize open the velcro that held the collar of the suit together with his fingers, and tripped over something on the floor.

Looking down, Max saw that he had stumbled over one of Carlos' trainers. They'd been kicked off in haste to change into his race suit and the boots had scattered across the floor. On the sofa that leaned up against the wall opposite was the Spaniard's discarded clothes - a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and his favourite hoody.

Max picked the hoody up carefully, pushing the jeans and t-shirt out of the way so that he could sit on the sofa. He pulled his knees up to his chin the way he used to as an upset child when he'd been sent to his room, and hugged the hoody to his chest.

It smelled like Carlos.

A tear slowly slid down Max's cheek and he wiped it away with sleeve of the hoody, holding the material to his face as he breathed in the scent of his team mate. More tears began to flow and soon Max found himself sobbing uncontrollably, using the hoody to muffle the sound from anybody who might be outside the trailer and near enough to hear.

Through the tears - his mind filled with the aroma that was clinging to the Spaniard’s jumper - Max prayed that Carlos would be OK. He wasn't particularly religious and he had never prayed before, but he had no idea what else to do and he found himself begging to whatever greater being might be in control of life and death that Carlos would be fine and that he would hear good news soon.

Max didn't know how long it took for the sobbing to subside, but by the time his tears dried, the front of the hoody was soaked through. When the trailer was finally quiet again, just the odd sniffle as the Belgian tried to clear his nose, he told himself that crying wouldn't change anything and certainly wouldn't help Carlos. The best thing was to remain calm, take a shower and be there if his team mate needed him.

As he sat in silence, knowing he really should shower but not quite being able to bring himself to, he realised that he could hear a loud commotion outside of the trailer. Voices were shouting and he could tell that people were pushing into the side of the trailer by small taps and knocks on the metal around him. He strained his ears, trying to hear what was being shouted, but nothing came through clearly enough.

Max wiped his face on the hoody, making sure his eyes were dry before he walked to the door, taking Carlos' top with him. He didn't care if his face was blotchy and red from tears - nobody would be bothering him if there had been news of Carlos. And besides - he had to know what all the fuss was about.

Max poked his head out of the door and saw that most of the crowd that surrounded the trailer were wearing the yellow and pink vests of the media and television crews. He could see his team and Franz Tost were still in the garage and rope barriers had been placed outside to stop people entering. A few of the engineers stood in the paddock, chatting between themselves, presumably unable to push their way through the crowd to continue working.

The Belgian jumped from the trailer and frantically pushed his way through the back end of the crowd towards the engineers, the hoody clutched tightly to his chest.

"What's happened?" he ask bluntly as he reached the group. "What's going on? Why didn't anyone come to tell me? What's happened?"

Max's throat was filled with a lump that he couldn't swallow down and his voice broke, forcing out a choked sob. Did he really want to know?

"They got Carlos out," one of the engineers said. "They're taking him to hospital. The car should be back in a minute. We're waiting to see the damage."

"Is Carlos OK?" Max almost shouted, gripping the hoody with both hands, not caring about the state of the car. "Why is he going to hospital?"

The engineer who had spoken, looked at the jumper clutched between Max's fingers, his knuckles whitening as he held on so tightly. 

"He's conscious," the man said, "though that's all we know for now."

"The car is coming," another engineer broke in, pointing down the paddock.

The group of engineers raced away from Max, leaving him alone in the middle of the paddock. He looked back at the crowd outside of the garage, jostling one another to try and get to the front and shout questions at the Toro Rosso team inside. He didn't want to fight his way through to get more useless answers from his team. He certainly didn't want to be asked questions, either. He needed to find someone who knew what was going on. 

Was Carlos really OK? He was conscious but was he hurt? How did the engineer know he was conscious if he didn't know more? What if he was conscious but had head injuries or bones had broken in the crash that would ruin his career? 

Max had to get to the hospital. He had to see Carlos and find out for himself.

Without thinking he broke into a sprint, running down the paddock in search of someone that could help him. Someone that would drive him to the hospital.

He ran into the Red Bull garage, rushing past Dany's team who were busily working on tweaking his car for qualifying later that afternoon. Nobody else was around the garage and Dan's side was empty, save for a few fans who were being given a tour by one of the PR girls.

Max rushed back out again, not bothering to run back to the main paddock road and slipping between the trailer and the wall and straight past McLaren's garage, before doubling back as a figure sat on a worn down tyre caught his eye.

"Fernando!" Max shouted, his voice high from exhaustion and panic. "Fernando, you have to help me."

Max came to an abrupt stop before the McLaren driver and had to force himself not to grab the Spaniard's hand and drag him out of the garage. Fernando looked surprised before jumping to his feet looking ready to face a challenge. Max's face was enough to tell him that something was wrong.

"You have to help me," Max panted, tears threatening to break free again. "Please. Take me to the hospital. I have to see Carlos. Nobody will tell me what's going on. I need to see him, please. Please, Fernando."

As he spoke, Max absentmindedly pressed Carlos' hoody to his face again, breathing in the smell that was almost fading in the fresh air. It calmed him a little, but a tear dripped from his eye and fell onto the already damp patch on the material.

Fernando looked at the jumper and saw Max's knuckles, white from clutching the jumper so desperately. He saw the tears in the younger driver’s eyes, and recognised the panicked look from years of race experience where the status of an injured driver was unknown. He'd been worried about Carlos too, but had come to know that no news was normally good news.

The Spaniard nodded to the boy, squeezing Max's shoulder before slipping into the back of McLaren's garage and returning with some keys in his hand. Max knew that Fernando probably thought he was being irrational but he didn't care as long as he was helping him. Fernando was the only driver in the paddock that had as close a friendship with Carlos as Max and surely he was feeling the same inside, even if he wasn't showing it on the outside.

The duo walked down the paddock to Fernando's car in silence. Max wanted to run and tried to set a quick pace hoping that Fernando would follow, but at the same time he was glad that the slower pace still meant there was hope if they were to arrive at the hospital and find that the worst had happened. 

He could feel panic rising up inside of him again and so breathed in another lung of Carlos' lingering smell on his hoody. If he hadn't been so warm in the race suit that he'd not actually got round to removing yet, he'd have put the hoody on and cuddled it against himself properly. He wanted to wrap himself up in Carlos' smell and forget that his team mate wasn't with him.

The drive in the car was quiet. It was slow going, exiting the circuit as traffic around the venue was still busy with spectators arriving. Neither Max or Fernando spoke. Max didn't trust himself to speak without breaking down again and Fernando wasn't sure how to comfort the boy who was clearly very upset by what had happened.

After almost ten minutes had passed, the Spaniard could stand the silence no more. Every few seconds Max would sniffle again and wipe his eyes with the hoody that was in his hands and as the elder in the vehicle, Fernando felt like he had a duty of care for the boy.

"Are you, OK?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

Max sniffed again before replying.

"Yes," he squeaked quietly, pausing for a few seconds before a loud sob broke free from his throat and the tears Fernando had seen building up burst free.

Max hugged the jumper to his face again, closing his eyes tightly and trying to stop himself. He felt stupid for working himself up like this in front of a driver he barely knew. Fernando wasn't really one of Max's heroes but he did look up to the Spaniard and he had gained a new respect for the man since he had become friends with Carlos who almost worshipped the ground the man walked on.

"Nobody will tell me what's going on," Max managed to say, his voice muffled by the jumper.

Fernando felt a wave of sympathy for the teenager. He knew all too well what it was like not knowing what had happened to a friend after they'd been taken from the circuit. If he hadn't been driving, Fernando would have hugged Max, but he knew the boy would rather get to the hospital than stop and have an awkward moment of bonding, so he just reached over and squeezed Max's shoulder.

"I'm sure he's OK," Fernando said softly. "I'm sure it's just a precaution."

Max nodded, his face still buried in Carlos' hoody as his sniffed loudly, trying to compose himself. He pulled the sleeve of the hoody free and wiped his eyes again. Fernando couldn't help but smile sadly, seeing the young boy that was still inside Max who had acted so maturely throughout the rest of his rookie season.

The two drivers fell back into silence for the rest of the journey to the hospital, Max watching out of the window, hoping that every corner would lead them to the hospital whilst Fernando tried to take the quickest route that he knew of.

When they finally pulled up into the car park, Max jumped out of the car and raced towards to the entrance, leaving Fernando behind as he locked the car and walked in after him. There were a few members of the media outside the hospital, but he ignored their questions, anxious not to lose Max.

"If you follow the signs leading down that corridor," a receptionist was saying as Fernando reached Max, "you'll find the ward and somebody there will be able to tell you where your friend is."

Max began walking down the corridor before he even realised that Fernando had caught him up, and the Spaniard nodded his thanks to the member of staff before chasing after the Toro Rosso driver.

Max's mind began to fill with horror again. Would Carlos still be conscious? Would he be covered in blood? Wrapped in bandages? Would he be bruised and injured? Would he even want to _see_ Max? What if he had head injuries and didn't even know who Max was any more?

The Belgian's breathing quickened again and he found himself slowing his pace. At first he had wanted to see Carlos as soon as possible and find answers to all his fears, but now he wasn't so sure. Now he wondered if he'd rather not know what had happened and still be able to cling to that tiny bit of hope that was stopping him from caving in altogether.

Tears began to fall from his face again and he pulled Carlos' hoody up to his cheeks to mask them. Fernando placed his hand on the younger driver’s shoulder and guided him towards the ward where Carlos was supposed to be. It seemed to take forever to walk there and Max had to fight the urge to lean into Fernando for support, no matter how much he really wanted to.

"But pleeease," a voice burst into Max's ears, louder than the other voices around him despite still being far away.

It was almost as though his ear was tuned to the voice and it made Max jump, though Fernando didn't even seem to have heard it. It sounded so familiar. Max was almost dazed as they continued walking towards the voice, every word it said loud and clear compared to everything else around him.

"You have to let me race," the voice continued. "I'm fine, honestly. I'll be okay to drive, look."

Chuckles from a room ahead of them shook Max out of his daze and he realised what he had heard. He stopped in his tracks, turning to Fernando and beaming as his hands fell away from his face, the hoody hanging limply beside his legs. The Spaniard smiled back, half amused by Max and half happy to hear the familiar voice himself.

Max burst into a run, leaving Fernando behind him again as he slid to a halt at the door to a room from which the voices were coming from. He stared into the room, seeing Carlos in hospital robes on a bed, chatting with two doctors who were smiling and nodding at him.

Carlos was whole. He was alive. 

He had legs - Carlos' own legs, tanned and covered with black hair. He had arms that were moving as he talked. And his head. It was fine. The hair was a sweaty mess and he still had the marks from his helmet on the skin on his face, but there was no blood. No bruises.

Carlos was smiling. His eyes were bright and alert and his smile was filling his face.

Max snapped out of his examination of Carlos and realised that the Spaniard was smiling at him as he stood gaping in the doorway, his face red and swollen from all the tears and worry of the past hour or so.

"Hey Maxy," Carlos said, cheerfully. "Tell the doctors I'll be fine to drive tomorrow, they don't seem to want to let me."

Carlos pouted playfully at the doctors and Max's heart skipped a beat. He remembered who Max was. He really was fine. Everything was OK. It was going to be OK. Max was going to have his team mate back. His best friend was going to be fine. He _was_ fine.

Max's eyes filled with tears of happiness as he slowly entered the room and walked towards the hospital bed. The doctors nodded to him and both left the room, clearly giving the drivers some time alone. The fact that they left helped Max relax some more - surely they wouldn't have left if there was any chance of Carlos losing consciousness or if there was something important that the Spaniard’s friends and family should be informed of.

"Ah nice," Carlos said, as Max approached and he noticed the Belgian was carrying his hoody. "You brought me clothes... even if you didn't have time to change yourself..."

Carlos looked the younger driver up and down before grinning with a bemused expression. Max's brow furrowed with confusion before he glanced down and saw he still wore his race suit and remembered the hoody that he'd been clutching since he found it. 

The Belgian flushed, embarrassed that he'd been so worried as to forget to change or think of things that Carlos might need for his trip to hospital. He hadn't even thought about the Spaniard needing something to wear.

"Well... err," Max said, tossing the hoody onto the bed beside Carlos quickly, "it's... just your hoody actually. Sorry. I... I wasn't thinking straight."

Carlos laughed, grabbing Max's hand and pulling him into an embrace. Max had to lean down to wrap his arms around his team mate and he clung onto the Spaniard, unable to stop himself from beaming as tears of happiness flooded from his eyes.

"I'm so glad you're OK," Max whispered.

When they eventually parted, Max dropped into the seat beside the bed and Fernando finally emerged from the doorway. The Spaniard nodded at Carlos and smiled at Max, who seemed a lot calmer than he had a few moments ago.

Carlos grinned at his fellow countryman as he slid his arms into the sleeve of the hoody Max had brought with him and lifted it to pull over his head.

He was halfway into the hoody, his face buried in the material, before he stopped and made a strange gagging sort of noise.

Fernando and Max both held their breaths, worrying that something was wrong, but before they had chance to respond, Carlos ripped the hoody clear from his arms and threw it back onto the bed, turning to Max with a wrinkled nose as he picked it up cautiously between two fingers.

"Max..." he said, "why is my hoody covered in wet patches?"


End file.
